The Sun in Splendour - Plaidy Jean - Страница 59

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He looked like a king; he behaved like a king; and this was what the people wanted.

There was no doubt that the country was regaining its self-respect through him. He had a beautiful wife. True the people disliked her because of her arrogance and the fact that she was as they said 'low-bom' but they admitted that she was very beautiful and she had done her duty in producing a fine family. There were now seven living children. George had been bom within the last two years. A handsome King, a beautiful Queen and a clutch of children including Edward the Prince of Wales to follow the King—which they all hoped would not be for many years and before he was a mature man—and little Richard Duke of York who had so recently married Anne Mowbray and now little George just a year old. An unfortunate choice of name perhaps as it recalled that other George who had died so mysteriously in the Bowyer Tower but royal families stuck to certain names and so there was George.

As the months passed and the shadow of Clarence grew farther away, Edward's contentment grew. He had one great wish that

was as yet unfulfilled and that was to see his eldest daughter Dauphine of France. This would be the ideal marriage. Peace would be brought about between the two countries and with an English Princess Queen of France none could complain but would realize how much wiser it was to settle these disputes through such alliances than to carry on with destructive wars. But Louis was prevaricating and there was always some reason why he could not send for the Princess. Now he was saying that he must come to some settlement of his disagreement with Burgundy before the plans for the marriage could go forward.

Edward waited content. He was more independent than an English king had been for many years. He owed this to what he considered his skilful diplomacy in France. What other king would have been shrewd enough to take a mighty army to France and come away with a pension and no bloodshed? Those fifty thousand crowns were a symbol of his shrewdness. They had bought him his independence; they had set his exchequer in order and made it possible for him not to impose heavy taxes on his people. They had enabled him to shake off the yoke the barons liked to put on their kings and usually managed to because the king had constantly to ask them for money.

He had always been something of a merchant. Perhaps that was why he had enjoyed mingling with them. He was interested in their trading as well as their wives. He had learned a great deal about the exporting of wool both raw and made into cloth, and he had sought to make English cloth the best in the world. Moreover he had succeeded.

He was at the height of his power. He was the glorious sun which the house of York depicted so well on its banner. Right at the heart of the people's love for him was his interest in them. He loved his people. He could talk to them with ease; he could move among them dressed as a merchant so that they were not aware of his identity. He could talk to them of the difficulties of business and when they discovered that they had been in conversation with the King, they were his for ever.

He had the rare touch of being at one with his people and because he was at the same time so splendid, so magnificently attired on state occasions, and always, even now that he was so corupulent and showing the marks of a debauched existence, still handsome, he would keep this gift until the day he died.

Edward could look back on the last ten years since he had been

restored to the throne and say: 'I have done well. I have given them what they asked.'

But he did not stint himself. He still had his mistresses, his rich food, his fine wines and his splendid clothes. He lived like a king; and the people wanted it that way.

The Queen was quite content that it should be as he had made it. That he had his mistresses she had known for a long time. He had slipped back into his old promiscuous ways soon after their marriage. Her wise mother had taught her that that was something she must accept and she had accepted it. Her delight in her marriage did not lie in the bedchamber. Elizabeth liked to see her women kneel before her when they addressed her; she liked all of them to remember every moment of the day that she was the Queen. Her joy had been to see her family rise to be the most significant in the land. All the important posts now—or almost all—were held by Woodvilles. There were jokes about it in the Court. They said the Rivers flowed very high now. Let them! What mattered it what they said? While her brothers had grown rich and powerful the envious lords and ladies who had lost to them might look on and gnash their teeth all they wished.

Like the King, more than anything now, she wished to see the marriage of their eldest daughter to the.Dauphin. Madame la Dauphine would in due course become the Queen of France. Herself a Queen, her daughter a Queen of France, what more could Elizabeth want.

The death of Clarence had brought them peace.

They owed something too to Edward's brother Richard who was keeping order with constant efficiency in the North. Edward had often said how relieved he was to have someone up there whom he could trust. When he thought of Clarence which he still did far too frequently, he also thought of Richard. The contrast if nothing more would have brought Richard to his mind. He often said to himself: If I had but been blessed with another brother such as Richard how different life would have been. Richard he fancied had not come to Court so much since the death of Clarence. He seemed to make excuses for not coming. Was it because of George's death? Edward knew it was. With Richard's strict code how would he have felt about the removal of their brother? It was hard to say. Richard had the makings of a ruler and surely one such must realize that the death of one man was a small price to pay if it was going to prevent the blood of hundreds

being shed. Yes, Richard must understand that. But he had not liked it. Clarence's execution had shocked him and Edward had to remember that Richard had been more closely brought up with him than he, Edward, had for they were nearer in age.

He must stop thinking of Clarence.

Richard then was in the North keeping the border safe, ever watchful of the Scots. He had some good men up there. He was not flamboyant like his brother but he did have a gift for binding men to him—some men that was . . . men like Francis Lovell the friend whom he had known since they were both boys. Lord Scrope and Richard Ratcliffe.

He was happy up there too—^always happier in the harsh North, he had often teased him. He liked the brash manners of the northerners rather than the more gracious ways of the South. One was honest, Richard said; the other far from that. Edward had laughed at him. Edward could put on a personality to suit all men. That was something Richard could never do.

Yes, he had brought things to a good pass, for while he had interested himself in trade he had not neglected the arts and his had become a cultured Court. He had furnished his Court so lavishly that he acquired some of the most beautiful works of art in Europe. His gold plate alone was worth a fortune; he had sets of arras representing the histories of the past—Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander and Biblical subjects; he was a constant customer at the goldsmiths' shops in London and all their best pieces were first shown to him.

He had started to build a new chapel at Windsor which he was calling the Chapel of St George and which he planned should exceed—or at least equal in splendour the buildings at Cambridge, built by his predecessor. He had gathered together some of the finest books in the world and was building up a magnificent library. He had monks in Bruges working on illuminating manuscripts for he particularly admired Fleming art. He had brought William Caxton to England. He had met Caxton during his enforced sojourn at the Court of his sister the Duchess of Burgundy and had then expressed great interest in the art of printing. At the time of Edward's exile Caxton had been working on a translation of the Receuil des Histoires de Troyes and as there had been such a demand for copies he had learned the art of printing that he might produce a large quantity. A few years ago Edward had persuaded him to come to England where he had

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